


It’s either hell or high water

by hellcsweetie



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smut, do not read if you haven’t watched it yet, takes place immediately after the end of 8x16, very canon compliant PRAISE THE LORD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 03:44:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19985542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellcsweetie/pseuds/hellcsweetie
Summary: Samantha’s words had smacked him hard in the face and he’d been overcome with an urgency, a complete desperation to come over and see her. And when she’d opened the door there was no need for words; their intent was written on their foreheads. So he hadn’t really had time to process this in the last ten minutes.





	It’s either hell or high water

She turns around to face him, her teasing half-smile waning. Her chest still heaves from all the kisses and her lips are reddened and on their way to swollen. There’s a buzzing in his ears caused by the rush of blood, though at this point he’d have thought all the blood had gone south. He thinks he must look slightly confused, because he sure feels it. 

Samantha’s words had smacked him hard in the face and he’d been overcome with an urgency, a complete desperation to come over and see her. And when she’d opened the door there was no need for words; their intent was written on their foreheads. So he hadn’t really had time to process this in the last ten minutes. 

And now they’re standing by her bedroom and she’s giving him major sex eyes. His desire and his need for her drive him forward and it doesn’t take him long at all to come to terms with the fact that he probably won’t have time to process this for the next several minutes either. 

Hands fly to her waist and his mouth falls onto hers again. The smooth satin of her top flows like water beneath his fingers and the thin fabric of her pants allows him a fairly good feel of her thighs, but he wants to feel her bare, to be sure he isn’t making this up. 

Her tongue swirls against his and her nails tease his scalp. He pants, pushing her back into her bedroom, slipping the straps of her bra and top down her shoulder. She smiles against his mouth, clings to him. He feels utterly understood and something tingles in his chest at this thought. 

She works on his tie, previously forgotten, and he has to alternate kissing her and watching her because he is so overwhelmed by this. There was no decision, no plan. In what feels like a split second something snapped and he ended up here, in her arms, about to take her to bed. 

She rids him of the tie, the shirt and the doubts. Her hands flatten against his back and the heels of her palms press onto the back of his hips, urging him closer, urging him. She breathes out a short laugh as he sucks on her pulse point, cupping his ass, rubbing herself against him. 

His head is spinning but he’s not dizzy at all; in fact, his focus zeroes in on getting her out of her clothes. He can see the burgundy strap of her lingerie and he’s eager to see all of it, hopes her undies match her bra, doesn’t care at all if they don’t. 

He slides his palms up her sides, bringing the satin with them. Her arms shoot up and he discards the top, already licking his way down her clavicle and breasts. Her skin is creamy and soft and her breasts are perfectly cupped in their confines, as beautiful as the rest of her. He runs his teeth against the lace, teasing, enjoying the little gasp she lets out. 

He tugs on her pants, pulling them down. She shimmies a little and the loose fabric drops to the floor. He squeezes her ass, the back of her thighs, pulls her into him. He doesn’t even bother hiding or feeling embarassed by how hard he is, because he thinks fourteen years is one hell of a foreplay. 

Donna seems spurred on by it, whimpering a little as she struggles with his belt, button and zipper. She pulls away and shoves his slacks down, looking up at him in such a sexy way that he’d get hard instantly if he weren’t already about to burst. 

He can see the desire swimming in her darkened eyes, taste it on her lips, feel it in the pads of her fingers as they press and poke and pull. She wouldn’t need to tell him she wants him, but she does anyway, in a whisper next to his ear as she backs them against the foot of the bed. 

He aches for her, literally, physically aches for her. He sees now that he’s been aching for her, to various degrees and in various ways, for years. He wants to have a meaningful conversation about this because he fears they won’t survive it if they don’t. But right now he wants to bury his face in her hair, smell her perfume mixing with her sweat, taste her freckles. 

She sinks to the bed of her own accord, going slow, being sexy, staring him in the eye the whole time. She’s always been sexy and classy and beautiful, but he likes that she seems at home, not just in this room but with him. 

She lays her head on the white pillow, her hair fanning out beneath her. He climbs in after her, settling above her hips. She wiggles around, settling in, biting her lip. She is all pinks and reds and oranges and all he sees is fire. All he feels is the fire burning through his veins, making him hot for her. 

He groans a little and dives in, capturing her mouth, sucking on her lip, arching down as she arches up. He reaches around her back and unclasps her bra, tosses it away, kisses her breasts and her nipples, blows hot air onto them. Her moans are starting to come out and he’s glad there is no distraction from the whipped cream this time. He wants to taste her and her alone. 

His hand snakes between them and his fingers stroke her center through her underwear and her hip bucks toward his wrist, but when he slips his palm inside the fabric she grabs his arm. 

“Just come here,” she whines even as she rubs herself against his hand, as her hips roll. 

Jesus fucking Christ. This woman. 

He nibbles the side of her neck, licks her jaw, wonders how he could go so long without doing this. He gets rid of her undies and his briefs and her legs part instantly, her feet firmly planted on the matress, ready for him. 

He peppers feather-light kisses on his way to her mouth because he likes the contrast between this and their bodies. How they can have both, the fire and the warmth. He wants both, with her. He wants it all. 

He kisses her as he thrusts and is immensely satisfied to swallow her moan. She drags her mouth away because she needs to pant as he starts moving. He nibbles and sucks and kisses and licks every last bit of her he can, needing to get over this initial wave. He knows they’ll have time, can feel it in his bones that they can do it right this time, but there is still something to be soothed this first time that he feels will only truly be soothed if he uses every last second of their time connected. 

Their fingers link and intertwine much like they did back in her hallway and he pins her hands above her head. She looks helpless, sounds helpless, and he is just as helpless too. He understands in this moment that they have truly no defense when it comes to the other, and maybe that’s alright. 

Her throaty moans and his sighing groans mix together to create a primal symphony, her and him fiddling, strumming and playing in unison. Her pitch goes higher as she nears her peak and he digs his head into the crook of her neck, breathing her in, shutting his eyes and closing them off from the rest of the world. 

She comes with a strangled cry, her whole body wrung tight, coiled, pressed against his. He comes with sloppy wet kisses and arrhythmic thrusting. 

He slowly releases her fingers and her arms wraps loosely around his back as they recover. She kisses his cheek and his jaw, the feeling on his cooling skin a whole new sensation. Once he’s back to his senses he detangles himself carefully and lays down next to her, holding her hand. 

For a moment, all there is is their breathing normalizing and her thumb stroking his knuckles. He looks at her, hair in disarray, cheeks still slightly flushed, clavicle bones appearing and disappearing with the movement of her chest. She is beautiful, he notes again, and it feels like the first time. 

“You know,” he starts, voice hoarse and careful, “As... amazing as this was, I actually came here to tell you something.” She doesn’t respond, but turns onto her side to face him. He focuses on her eyes in order not to get distracted by her breasts pressed together. 

“I was talking to Samantha before I came over,” he goes on quietly, assuming she knows all about what happened during the day, “She was saying how hard it’s gonna be without Robert now, because she won’t have anyone to tell things to. And... I guess it resonated with me, because... I only ever wanna tell you things.”

She is watching him tenderly, but doesn’t say anything, which prompts him to go on because really, now is the time. “And I tried taking Robert and Alex out for dinner but they preferred going home to their wives. And I realized I want that. With you. I wanna come home to you.” His voice finishes tiny, uncertain. He feels it, with absolute assuredness. But saying it out loud is something else. 

She just looks at him for a second, gaze soft. Then she presses her lips together, seemingly bracing for something, lets go of his hand and props herself up on her elbow. And then she leans down to give him the sweetest kiss he has ever received. 

“I’d like that,” she whispers almost against his lips, and her smile is serene. Looking at her, he’s glad she didn’t go to the hearing today. He wanted her there, but maybe her not going is precisely what finally allowed this to happen. 

And this thought reminds him of something else. “Shit,” he mutters, eyes shutting of their own accord. He holds them closed for a second and sighs, feeling her tense in his arms. “Thomas.”

Her smile drops and guilt flashes behind her eyes as she takes a breath. “We talked this morning. I... think we’re broken up. But I’ll call him,” she says quietly, but sounds sure. He’s ashamed of the wave of relief that hits him at the fact that she doesn’t seem to be hesitating to break up with the man. 

Still, he sounds contrite, “Sorry, I should have asked.” She brushes his nose with hers and he feels a spike of affection. “Don’t think about that anymore. This is the only thing that matters,” she whispers, and he’d have preferred it if things had been different, but not a single cell in his body disagrees with her. This is the only thing that matters. 

He tilts his chin and catches her lips to show her he trusts her. Then they stare at each other for the millionth time before his hand reaches up and brushes her hair away from her face. He usually doesn’t like doing it with so many lights on, but he didn’t even notice it when they entered the room and now he’s grateful for it, for the fact that he can fully see her face and the cute little smile she gives him. 

He’s grateful for a lot of things today. For Alex’s and Louis’ friendship. For Robert’s sacrifice. For Samantha’s efforts in helping him and for her unwitting wake-up call. For Jessica’s belief in him and for Mike’s trust. 

And most of all, he’s grateful for her and to her. For seeing him, and for being here. For being the hand he wants to hold and the hair he wants to be transfixed by and the smile he wants to feel against his skin. He’s grateful that she’s waited for him, and that he finally got the strength to do something about it. He’s grateful that he can roll over, reach over their heads, turn off the light and fall asleep in her arms. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song Love Is Mystical by Cold War Kids.
> 
> This fic exists as a sort of parallel universe to The power to believe again and Love will break the chains, as different versions of what could have happened that night.


End file.
